


Maybe I'm Amazed

by warm_nostalgia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkward Romance, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkward Sherlock, Baking, Coming Out, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Gifts, Injury, Insecure Sherlock, John Whump, Kink Meme, Light Angst, M/M, Poor John, Poor Sherlock, Public Display of Affection, Rom-com, Romance, Sherlock Being an Idiot, accidental injury, baking bad, dating articles, doubting, haha that's horrible that should be a chapter name, john gets a sucky week, mother knows best, mummy intervenes, nothing too serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-26 05:03:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1675706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warm_nostalgia/pseuds/warm_nostalgia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Idea originally based off something from the kink meme. Link to original prompt inside.<br/>This is my own description, and it doesn't quite match the prompt, but the idea in the story is to be included:</p><p>John is incredibly romantic in his and Sherlock's blossoming relationship. Sherlock knows this isn't quite acceptable to only be on the receiving end. Problem is, Sherlock's simply not a romantic himself by nature.</p><p>Using an women's online article on how to be more romantic, Sherlock tries to become more sweet toward his new boyfriend... </p><p>...with very unexpected results when everything he tries blows up in his face. </p><p> </p><p>Yes, this is basically a rom-com. Ridiculous, a teensy bit cracky, slightly angsty, and sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the link to the prompt that this fic is based off of:  
> http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/22393.html?thread=131314297#t131314297
> 
> Title is taken from the song 'Maybe I'm Amazed' by Paul McCartney.

_Baby, I'm amazed at the way you love me all the time,_  
 _And maybe I'm afraid of the way I love you._  
  
 _Maybe I'm amazed at the way you pulled me out of time,_  
 _You hung me on the line._  
 _Maybe I'm amazed at the way I really need you._  
  
 _Baby, I'm a man, maybe I'm a lonely man_  
 _Who's in the middle of something_  
 _That he doesn't really understand._

"Maybe I'm Amazed"by Paul McCartney

* * *

 

_Try kissing your partner's cheek when they least expect it._

 

Sherlock grimaced and clicked the arrow to the next tip. He'd already gone through several.

 

_Hold his/her hand in public. Entwine your fingers together to add extra sweetness._

 

He frowned.

 

_Touch your partner intimately, but not just sexually in the bedroom. Kisses to the forehead, hugs from behind, or brushing his/her cheek with the back of your fingers will cause shivers to run down his/her spine!_

 

Moving on.

 

_Surprise your significant other with something special, like flowers or candy. Not just on holidays either!_

 

The frown deepened, and again he clicked the mouse.

 

_Make him/her a special dinner or snack. This is ideal for anniversaries!_

 

With a frustrated growl, Sherlock clicked out of the love advice website and tugged hard at his curls. He and John had successfully entered a sexual and romantic relationship only last month, and realized something about it was off.

 

He considered it to be him, really. He was the circle in the square hole. 

 

What he really was, was not romantic. Not affectionate.

 

Oh, John. John was definitely the romantic.

 

John would kiss him before he went off to the clinic in the mornings and even make him cups of tea before he took off. He'd play with his hair while they watched  _Jeremy Kyle_ and tut at him when Sherlock would deduce who the real father was before the DNA results were shown. John would trace circles on his bare chest in the middle of the night and whisper beautiful things to Sherlock as he heaved and gasped and shouted for him through an earth-shattering orgasm. John would remind him that he loved him before they drifted off, cuddled into each other. 

 

John would do anything for him. John would kill and grieve and give up and unconditionally love him. 

 

Yes, John was the romantic, he supposed, as he closed his laptop.

 

An ache began in his chest and stomach, and Sherlock quickly devised a plan. Yes. He'd be romantic. He could do that. He could just...

 

_Oh._

 

Sherlock pulled open his laptop and clicked on his history tab.

 

The  _“How to Be Loving and Romantic – Tips and Tricks”_ article popped up again, and this,  _this_ was suddenly Sherlock's mission and top priority.

 

His mobile buzzed and rang, the desk vibrating under Sherlock's fingers.

 

“Sherlock Holmes. ...Oh, hello. A six will do, but if it's a three and you're lying again...”

 

Well, perhaps not his top priority. Not just yet.

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Cadaver Kisses (Tip #1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock finds a creative way to use tip number one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haaahaaaajijdjhkasdfaa trope alert

It was actually a five and a half ruled as a cold-blooded murder, but Sherlock and John stayed anyway.

 

“I'd say he's been dead for at least a day and a half. The exit wound is in the front, showing he was shot from the back, so...”

 

John glanced up questionably at Sherlock, kneeling next to him near the body and checking the man's jeans. “Sherlock, wouldn't you say – ? You said this man wanted revenge on a criminal of some sort. And the man's prints were on this gun's, and the glove over there...” He hesitated when Sherlock met his eyes, judging him quietly. “Never mind.”

 

“No, go on. We need all the help we can get,” Lestrade urged from the sidelines.

 

“Don't let him bully you, Watson,” Donovan also chimed in, turning away from her side-conversation with a new recruiter.

 

John cleared his throat. “Uh – hm. Okay, well, I'm not Sherlock, but couldn't this have been set up to _look_ like a murder?” He shifted on his knees. “I mean, I know you're all convinced it's a murder. But the signs of depression are sort of there. The past alcohol abuse and moodiness. And the note, the handwriting looks almost purposefully like it's been changed a little. Like a bad forgery. A forgery of a forgery? Do you think he'd think to frame this guy to try and give him time? Could the police, I don't know, entertain the possibility? He could have shot himself from the back, too. The wound is off-centered, so, the angle of his arm could've been crooked slightly as he held it. Though the criminal could be a sloppy murderer, I suppose, but that's not...likely...”

 

John glanced around the room sheepishly.

 

Somewhere along the way, the investigators in the room were staring at John as if they were the ladies and lords and John was the help downstairs speaking out of turn.

 

“Not bad. Maybe we don't need the great Sherlock Holmes after all,” Sally said after a moment, grinning at John. She threw a wink at him, and John cringed internally when she turned away.

 

Lestrade cleared his throat and wrote into his notes. “Yeah, watch it, Sherlock. I have John's number, too, if you become too stubborn.” He was suppressing a grin.

 

Sherlock was staring dumbly at the body in front of them, occasionally glancing up at John. His mouth was open in obvious question before he began hissing, “Stupid, _stupid,_ stupid!” at himself.

 

John barely had time to react before his detective had reached over and grabbed his face, pressing a hard and quick kiss to his lips, then on both of his cheeks. “Brilliant, _brilliant!_ ” he cried, now on his feet and heading out of the room. He turned back in for a moment and locked eyes directly with John. “Captain Watson, we are _definitely_ going to be busy tonight.” He winked and ducked through the crime scene until he was outside.

 

John was left flushed and apologizing for Sherlock's inappropriate behavior to Lestrade, and received a few playful innuendos from Sally Donovan for the next four cases.

 

“Stage one failed. Stage two, then,” Sherlock murmured thoughtfully once John had successfully given a long and tedious lecture on public displays of affection and the borderline.

 

“What?”

 

“Oh, er, nothing. Have we still got crisps?”

 


	3. Public Hand-Holding (Tip #2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock makes John angry and upset in following tip number two.
> 
> This is angsty.

"That girl," John choked out. "She wasn't even..."

 

Sherlock hovered close behind him near the police car, facing the Thames. The ambulance was slowly driving away, for it had no one to save at this point.

 

"She was only  _nineteen..._ " John's voice echoed almost physical pain.  _  
_

"Everyone has their time," Sherlock murmured, touching his shoulder. "Everyone dies, John."

 

John shrugged Sherlock off and turned to face him, looking utterly broken and devastated. His eyes were red around the rims, and there were far too many lines on his face visible in the dark. He looked  _tired._

 

"John?" When John turned and started walking in the direction of the main road, he tried again once he'd caught up. "John! Why is this affecting you so much?" 

 

"Will you just leave me alone for once, Sherlock?" John clipped, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. He turned a corner sharply and looked away.

 

Sherlock blinked, hesitating in his step. He waited a while before catching up again. "John..." It was soft and cautious this time.

 

"I didn't get to her fast enough," John blurted in a voice too loud. "I could have, and I didn't.  _Okay?_ Is that enough, Sherlock? Do you need an estimate of how many lives I couldn't save in the war, too?"

 

Sherlock fell silent as they passed near a pub, a good number of loiterers smoking and drinking conversationally. Suddenly, unable to help himself at John's personal state, he reached out a hand and slid it into John's jacket pocket to pull it out and hold it comfortingly. He had squeezed it tightly before John yanked it away and shouted, "Bloody hell, Sherlock! Leave me alone!"

 

They were frozen on the pavement for a moment, a few glances thrown in their direction, and when Sherlock turned his gaze from the establishment to John again, he was already gone.

 

* * *

 

 

An hour later, Sherlock lay in bed alone since John had walked off in an opposite direction. He wasn't even sure why he'd chosen to gone to bed. He was physically drained, it felt like. As if someone had stuck a tube down his throat and pumped the happiness out of him.

 

He was just drifting off another hour later when John finally joined him, the chain on the lamp pulled with a _clink._ The bed dipped, and he felt him spoon around his backside. He could smell beer drifting off him.

 

A kiss was pressed to his ear before John settled down with an arm around Sherlock's waist and a murmured, "I'm sorry," echoed in the room.

 

Sherlock continued to pretend he was asleep until he truly was.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Intimate Touch (Tip #3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sort of continuation from the last chapter.

Sherlock shuffled into the kitchen the next morning, and could already smell an apology breakfast wafting through the flat. He straightened out his pajama pants and top, ruffling his mussed sleep hair into a further mess, and yawned when he'd entered. He was promptly offered a mug of coffee.

  
  
"Good morning," John murmured, hesitant as he held out the steaming mug. "I...made coffee. Apology coffee, actually." He licked his lips and held Sherlock's gaze. "And eggs and toast. The way you like it."

  
Sherlock accepted it and nodded at him. "Good morning." He averted his gaze and moved to the table, taking a seat and grabbing his phone. He flicked through it before setting it down. A frustrated sigh escaped his lips as John set a plate consisting of an egg and two slices of toast in front of him. The doctor settled down across from him and tucked into his own breakfast. 

  
  
"Sherlock..."

  
"Save it, please," Sherlock rumbled hoarsely, dipping his toast in his egg yolk and taking a bite.

  
"No. I won't. I was being a dick."

  
There was a long pause before there was a response. "Yes, you were," Sherlock finally murmured. He could almost feel John's wince. "But I was being inconsiderate of your...emotional...dealings. And such. I should've known you needed alone time."

  
John frowned at his eggs and set down his fork. "That's the thing. I didn't, really. I went off to the pub we'd passed and got myself a bit smashed. Saw a high school friend there and talked my head off with her."

  
Sherlock's eyes flashed at the pronoun of 'her' and he visibly tensed up. John saw this immediately and held out a hand in defense. 

  
"No, Sherlock. We didn't flirt or kiss or shag. Calm down. I wouldn't do that to you, however angry I'd get." 

  
Sherlock blushed at his ridiculous jealousy and stared at his plate, then sipped his coffee quietly.

  
"Anyway," John continued, "I got spectacularly pissed, began to feel really bad because I'm a sorrowful drunk, and came home. But I shouldn't have pushed you away. You only wanted to help me."

  
Sherlock looked up, swallowed, and gave a tiny nod. He did.

  
John ruffled a hand through his hair and sighed. "So, can you forgive me? It bugged me all night and I just felt bad."

  
The detective pushed his chair away, the legs screeching against the floor, and moved to John's side. John stared up at him from his chair, and their gazes leveled when Sherlock squatted down. 

  
"I forgive you for rejecting me, but no one can forgive the human error that is emotion."

  
John huffed a small laugh. "So, in English, you mean yes?"

  
Sherlock smiled easily. "Yes."

  
Then, they met in a gentle kiss, and Sherlock wrapped his arms around John in a soft embrace. He moved up to kiss John's forehead tenderly, then cupped his cheek with a large hand. John flushed pleasantly under the touch.

  
"You're turning into quite the romantic, Sherlock."

  
Sherlock rumbled a laugh in response, brushing the back of his fingers across John's cheek. "I do try."

  
"Mmm...I do believe it's working. Tell me, are you feeling up for a lovely morning romp?" John asked.

  
Then, as he was caressing his cheek still, Sherlock's finger strayed up and poked his eye accidentally. 

 

 _Well, there it goes,_ Sherlock thought, projecting an expression of horror.

  
"Ow -  _ow!_ Sherlock, _ow!_ " John was pulling back now as Sherlock looked utterly devastated, hands fluttering back. "Jesus, shit, shit, _ice!_  Get me ice!" 

  
Sherlock was up in a flash.  
  


* * *

  
  
"So much for romance," John had muttered as he held a package of frozen peas to his left eye. "Christ, it stings..."

  
  
Sherlock sat next to him on the couch, and his hand wandered on his thigh. "Can I still – ?"

  
John glared.  
  


The hand darted away.


	5. Flowers (Tip #4)

Surely he couldn't screw up flowers.

Apology flowers. Sorry-I-poked-you-in-the-eye flowers.

Flowers were on the tip list, too. They were gorgeous flowers, Sherlock thought. John would approve. He might've stolen them from a church yard, too. John might not approve of that.   
  
Irrelevant. John still loving him was more important than church property. Not that John didn't love him anymore. He set down the exotic-looking flowers upon the bed as he hunted around for tissue paper, string, and paper to write a note.   
  
Eventually he had a lovely bouquet tied together when John came home from the clinic, and the flowers were set on the kitchen table by the kettle.  
  
John had quirked a small smile at the bouquet, smelling the sweet and bright flowers a moment, then reading the note attached to the kettle.  
  
 _Sorry about yesterday. Perhaps I can make up for it?_  
 _If yes, bedroom. Take off your clothes._  
 _-SH_  
  
Sherlock was, of course, hiding nude under the sheets with a flushed expression when John entered, grinning as he was already nearly done with the buttons on his shirt. His shoes were promptly toed off as he tugged at his cuff buttons. "Flowers? Really?" His eyes roamed over Sherlock, over his outline under the sheet. They stopped at a concealed bump that was decidedly not an elbow or knee.   
  
"I'm attempting to romance you," Sherlock explained, pulling the sheet down and uncovering his chest a bit. He licked his lips and very obviously showed that he was moving his hand between his thighs underneath the sheet. The detective's eyes fluttered shut and he tipped his head back with a groan of relief.  
  
"Christ, you sexy thing," John breathed out, barely stumbling out of his trousers as he scrambled into the bed and yanked away the sheets.

* * *

  
  
"God, John, _yes._ "  
  
John scratched his cheek and continued sucking on Sherlock's neck, his other hand holding them together as they moved, squirming in pleasure against each other. He scratched his cheek again, and then Sherlock had tackled them the other way, with him looming over the blond. He attacked his lips as John groaned aloud.  
  
John brought his hand up to scratch at his neck, fingers brushing bumps there. He pulled back from the intoxicating pull of Sherlock's lips on his. "Hold on, wait..." Suddenly, there were all parts of him itching (thankfully not his cock - not _yet,_ at least), and he sat up, Sherlock doing the same on his lap.  
  
"Something the matter?" Sherlock asked, kissing his lips quickly. His cheeks were flushed pink, pupils blown. He was clearly ready to continue on.  
  
"Yeah, is there...is there some bumps on my neck or cheek or something?"   
  
Sherlock touched John's jaw to turn his head, furrowing his brows. John couldn't see what he was looking at, so he asked, "Well?"  
  
"Ah...yes. We...may need the Benadryl, John."  
  
John pulled back. " _What!?_ " he cried, and scampered off the bed to look at himself in the full-length mirror. "Jesus Christ," he breathed out, voice cracking as he traced the rash at his chest and felt the inflating skin at his cheek. "Fuck. I'm breaking out." He turned on his heel, erection completely gone and looking quite silly. "Those flowers – Sherlock, did those have _pollen?_ "  
  
Sherlock shook his head. "No! I know you're allergic to a certain pollen, and there's no pollen on those."    
  
John scrambled to the bathroom to find an antibiotic. Thankfully, he had some from the time Sherlock wanted to test pollens and bee effects for "experimental purposes". Sherlock was right behind, and John could see in the mirror that he looked very guilty.  
  
"Are you _sure_ it didn't have that pollen? Where did you buy those flowers, Sherlock?"  
  
Sherlock's eyes widened a moment, but he cleared his throat and didn't answer, staring at the shower curtain.   
  
"Sherlock. Answer me, right now, because I'm having an _allergic reaction!_ " John roared, and his lover jumped minutely.   
  
"I stole them from a church yard," Sherlock admitted, flushing in embarrassment. "They could have carried pollen from another flower nearby, and I set them down on the bed for a moment, which could have spurred your reaction when I pushed you over –"  
  
John was already racing into the kitchen to pour the suggested amount of the antibiotic to digest, downing it and tapping his fingers onto the counter. He growled at the rash spreading around his chest, washed his hands, and rubbed his eyes tiredly.   
  
A small smile tugged at Sherlock's lips once he'd tossed the flowers into their trash and washed his own hands.  
  
" _What?_ " John snapped, his bottom lip puffed out in effect of the pollen. There was a funny little lisp seeping into his military tone.  
  
"Nothing, it's just...you look a bit like a blowfish," Sherlock murmured as they waited.  
  
The two naked men stood awkwardly against their kitchen counter, a stare-down waiting to happen. One side scowled, and the other fought laughter.   
  
"You can't tell me to sleep on the couch tonight because you're going to be there, so I'm taking the opportunity to be irritable."  
  
"You could sleep on the sthreet," John suggested. "Or in the church yard with the pollen flowers so that you can thtay far away from me for a bit."  
  
Sherlock cleared his throat and looked away, losing the battle. "Just...tell me if your tongue swells up any, and we'll get you to hospital," he murmured briefly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hrrrrrrrgh.  
> I wrote three chapters on an iPad in a car during a trip we had yesterday, so if anything has /these slash marks/ to show italics, I'm sorry. I had to edit quick because the app i used didn't support italics for some wonderful reason.
> 
> Pollen and the eye-poking idea were both from the original prompt on the kink meme. :)
> 
> Also, don't worry. No hospital for John.


	6. Baking Bad (Tip #5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I did it. I did the pun thing.   
> ha.

Two days later, the apology-for-apology biscuits burned up.  
  
So did the next batch.  
  
He'd finally caved when Mrs. Hudson had fluttered in that morning and demanded what that smell was.  
  
"I'm trying to bake. This is ridiculous. It's supposed to be simple."  
  
"Oh, love! Who told you that?" his landlady giggled beneath his hand, shooing his hands away from the oven. She tutted at his burnt biscuits and began to toss them, Sherlock regretfully helping her. He deflated against the counter and hung his head.   
  
"I can't do it," he grumbled.  
  
Mrs. Hudson turned and frowned. "I don't have the time to help you bake, love. I would if I could, but I've got a lunch date later with the girls and that lovely Fred friend of theirs." When Sherlock's expression fell, Mrs. Hudson, "ooh"'d softly in sympathy, stepping forward to touch his cheek and smile sadly.   
  
"What's been happening between you boys, anyway? John seems so put off lately. I'm hearing a few rows, mostly from him, every once in a while..." Her voice quieted, as if this were all scandalous to speak aloud. Sherlock wondered if she'd watched a bit too much _Downton Abbey_ as of recent.   
  
"Nothing, Mrs. Hudson. He's just prickly as of late." Sherlock attempted a small smile at her, and that seemed to do it. "I'm sure we'll mend by the end of the week."  
  
"Oh, you will. Be easy on him." The older lady patted his cheek and moved away to head back to her flat. "They may say food is the way to a man's heart, but no more baking! You hear, Sherlock Holmes?"  
  


* * *

  
  
There was one more person he could go to for advice. Someone he really, really didn't want to see until Christmastime again.  
  
"Oh, Sherlock! Our baby's on, finally. Good Christ. You never call. It's about time. You know we've just come into town, too. We left a message. Your father and I have been always – oh, he wants to get on too..."  
  
"Mummy – _Mother,_ " Sherlock sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I need advice. Can we keep Father off for the time being?"  
  
"Oh, I see. Okay, let me just..." There was the phone being pressed to Mrs. Holmes' breast as the mumbled news was broken to his father. "He wants you to call again so you can discuss football season."  
  
"Remind him I still don't care about football."  
  
"You're on speaker now, honey."  
  
"Hello, Sherlock!" Mr. Holmes called in the distance. There was a scattering of pots being dropped, a moderately quiet, "oh, bugger," and a sigh from his mother.   
  
"Oh, you absolute klutz..." There was amusement in his mother's tone.  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes.   
  


* * *

  
  
Sherlock and his mother ended up having a secret brunch at Speedy's, mostly to avoid his father from coming with and rambling off. Sherlock dearly loved both of them like a good and dedicated son, as did Mycroft,  but sometimes felt like he and his brother were complete different species than them.   
  
He knew this could be one of the most difficult things he'd done in a while.  
  
He actually hadn't even _considered_ it until he'd dialed the landline...  
  
Sherlock's stomach turned as he stared down at his folded hands on the table they sat at by the window and the coffee he wasn't sure he'd drink.  
  
His mother hummed and pointed at the sandwich selection on the laminated menu. "That sounds absolutely delicious. Do you want to try that, dear?"  
  
Sherlock merely nodded without listening.   
  
He'd never told his parents he was dating his male flatmate for a little over a month.


	7. Mother Knows Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's this? More than one chapter in a day?  
> Making up for the last days, I suppose!

 

"Mother, I think we need to discuss something I'd completely, er, neglected telling you." Sherlock fidgeted in the booth.  
  
"'Course, Sherlock. You can tell me anything." She set down her menu and reached over to squeeze her son's hand and retract it.  
  
"You know John."  
  
"Yes. How is he doing? After Mary, and since all that..." She waved his hand. "Horrible exchanging business and such. Must've been so hard. How long has it been since he moved back in again?"  
  
"Six months," Sherlock answered. "It's not what I wanted to talk about. Not really."  
  
"Oh? All right, go on."  
  
Sherlock cleared his throat. "As much as I despise to bring him up, you recall Victor?"  
  
Mrs. Holmes frowned a bit. "How could I not? Putting you in danger, pressuring you into stupid influences – ! Oh, that boy riled me up, he did. I turn absolutely horrid at the mention of the name – !"  
  
"Also not the point," Sherlock said quickly, eyes darting around the little sandwich shop.  
  
"Then do tell me what it is, Sherlock."  
  
Sherlock took in a deep breath. A nervous one.  
  
"John and I..."  
  
Mrs. Holmes blinked.  
  
"We're..."  
  
Mrs. Holmes nodded slowly. "Out with it."  
  
"We've been...seeing...each other?" Sherlock tried, and his face was red as a beet.  
  
“Oh.” Sherlock's mother smiled softly after a moment of comprehension, her blue eyes soft as she touched Sherlock's hand. "I suppose I hadn't had much of a chance being a grandmother, anyway, with you two as you are. Well, there's always adoption. But Mycroft and his business and you being...” She lowered his voice. “Just a touch _poufy,_ I suppose."  
  
Sherlock's eyes were wide in panic. " _Mother,_ " he hissed, pink tinting the tips of his ears.  
  
"Oh, you shush, shush, calm down." She gripped his pulse point and sighed. "You're panicking. You'll end up like your father if you're not careful!" Quickly, she moved herself out of the booth and went to Sherlock's side, sliding in and petting his curly hair. Sherlock flinched. "You've not disappointed me." He was pulled into her arms, enveloped in her pricey perfume (the only thing she spent lavishly on), and he oddly enough found himself melting into the touch of his mother.  
  
"Mother," he mumbled into her shoulder, attempting to pull away with no success. "I didn't say I was _gay._ I haven't put a label on myself. Labels are frivolous and boring."  
  
"Oh, you told me that with Victor, too. Told me three years later that it was an 'uncertain time' in your life. But the _dancing,_ Sherlock. You were so good at dancing. You loved it." She squeezed him. "Never mind me. I'm older, not politically correct. Be whatever you like, so long as you've got someone who makes you happy." She pulled back and stared at him hard, brows furrowed. "He does make you happy?"  
  
Sherlock hesitated. "Yes." He felt a bit uncomfortable discussing this. "We've only been together a little over a month, but...I'm...emotionally invested in him."  
  
"Oh..." She slapped part of her hand over her mouth and blinked a few times. "Oh my goodness. That's something I've _never_ heard from you."  
  
"Won't happen again," Sherlock replied swiftly, monotonous voice seeping back in. “We'll forget it.”  
  
"Not a chance!" she laughed, and when the waitress came by, she ordered for them and moved back to the other booth.  
  
"What about Father?"

“Oh, you know your father is entirely secular. He'll be a bit surprised, perhaps, but then he'll try and get you to talk about football again.” Mother Holmes waved her hand. “You're a grown man. We just want you happy.” She leveled their gazes. “And _safe._ Do you hear me? You go off, getting shot at and jumping in front of cars, jumping off _buildings...!_ ”

 

* * *

 

She'd told him what he'd expected her to tell him, along with a few stories about his father he listened to with one ear as he stared out the window. He froze up suddenly.

 

“Sherlock Holmes, are you listening?” Mrs. Holmes paused, then glanced out the window. ”What's gotten into you? What is it?”

 

Through the window, they could clearly see what made Sherlock freeze up. Just back from work and freshly off the tube, John was walking across the street to the flat, just barely in eyesight of the both of them, and carrying a single red rose wrapped around in dark blue tissue paper.

 

Mrs. Holmes clapped a hand over her mouth and pushed at Sherlock's arm. “Go, go after him! He'll be upset if you're not there.” Sherlock jumped out of the booth in alarm, leaned down, and kissed his mother's cheek before heading out and after John.

 

“Oh, what a good catch,” he heard her chuckle before he exited.

 


	8. More than Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter - sorry for no notice! I had no idea how many chapters I was planning for this story, and the Mummy thing actually popped in my head last minute.  
> Sorry this is so short.  
> So, here it is at long last. Well, not that long, actually, but...  
> Oh, just read it.

Sherlock's feet hit seventeen steps in continuum, nearly matching his heartbeats. He hadn't felt a ridiculous reason to be energetic since he'd formed a paperclip into an 'S' last week.

 

_John was bringing him a rose._

 

 

_John wasn't angry anymore._

 

 

_He must have forgave him for failing all those times._

 

The blogger was waiting in the kitchen, shuffling things around when he jumped at his flatmate's presence.

 

"Sherlock! Why are you breathless? What's - what's going on?" John shifted his weight onto his other foot, the flower hiding behind his back far too noticeably. A petal fluttered to the floor, unnoticed.

 

The floorboards creaked as Sherlock started toward him. Slowly, he ended up in the kitchen and in front of John, grabbing his hips to tug him near and kiss him hard.

 

John's brain spluttered and crackled, eyes wide throughout the kiss. When Sherlock had pulled away, he was blinking at him. 

 

"I'm sorry for this week, and last week, and all those things, and the flowers, and poking your eye, and grabbing your hand, and kissing you in front of half of Scotland Yard, and the biscuits –"

 

"Biscuits?" John interjected.

 

Sherlock's neck flushed a pleasant pink. "Two batches. Burnt to a crisp."

 

John stared for a bit before he thrust the rose between them, the tissue paper crumpling.

 

"What's this?" Sherlock asked, although he obviously saw it before.

 

"An apology."

 

"An apology?"

 

"I was being a cock this entire time to you." John's face didn't waver from the sternness he reverberated onto the detective, rose in hand and vulgar words spat down casually.

 

"I was the one putting you in danger." Sherlock paused, then headed to the desk in the sitting room. John followed close behind, peering over his shoulder as his lover produced a print-out. He held it out to John when he turned to face him. John took it and read the title of the article.

 

 

_How to Be Loving and Romantic – Tips and Tricks_

 

 

"What the hell is this? Tips and _tricks_?" John furrowed his brows and scanned the list as Sherlock stayed oddly quiet at his side. "Oh."

 

"Yes."

 

" _Oh._ And you've been..." _  
_

"Yes."

 

"And you tried..."

 

"Yes."

 

John's heart sunk to his feet.

 

"You didn't think you were _already_ good enough?" John's breathy, incredulous words echoed in their little dingy flat, and they must have slapped Sherlock in the face, the way he looked. 

 

Insecure.

 

Gobsmacked.

 

_Scared._

 

John wanted to hold him.

 

After a brief hesitation, Sherlock opened his mouth. "No."

 

John set down the red rose he'd purchased, glanced over the list once more, and folded it over a few times. He began ripping the paper into tens of shreds, then tossed them behind him and onto the floor. They fell like raindrops - much quicker than snow. It satisfied John knowing this.

 

"You're a goddamned idiot, Sherlock," John muttered. "What made you think for one second that you need to change for me?"

 

Sherlock, unfamiliar with verbal intimidation, stared at the flat beyond John. "It didn't balance."

 

"What?"

 

"The love."

 

John felt like he needed stitches right in his heart. Seams where it had broken in half. He reached out a hand toward Sherlock's, and Sherlock took a step back.

 

"I mean what I said there, John. You obviously love me more. Who else can put up with violin after midnight while they're fighting consciousness? Who else can make room for their partner's toys from the morgue and move their pasta dish up a shelf? Who else can kill and grieve and give up and sacrifice and still say they love the person before they fall asleep? You, John. You can."

 

John shook his head. "You're right. I don't believe that love can condone sacrifice. But you're no worse, Sherlock. You left me, although a bit selfishly and selflessly, you bastard, for two years. You spent that time saving my arse. Though I try not to think of it like this, that's two years of killing and destroying and eliminating for my life. We knew each other for _eighteen months._ " 

 

"It's not the same –"

 

"Don't you bloody pull that on me! I've always held it against you, those two years. But I know there's a part of me in here that tells me you're not a selfish bastard. You love me. You can't deny that."

 

Sherlock shook his head. "I _do_ love you, John. But not en–"

 

"Then shut up, you daft man, because that's more than enough. _You're_ more than enough," the doctor whispered back in response, eyes brimming with tears suddenly as he grasped Sherlock, pulling him close into an embrace that was none too gentle. Slowly, he felt Sherlock respond. Large hands spread their fingers, running up his back. The fingers stopped and curled in his rough jacket as the arms tensed around him.

 

"I love you as you are," he murmured into Sherlock's shoulder.

 

"I know," Sherlock mumbled back, and turned his face into his neck. "I'm sorry. I know." He paused. "Thank you for the rose."

 

"No pollen this time," John assured him with a smile.

 

Against his neck, he could feel Sherlock smile, too. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, and the bookmarks, and subscriptions, and comments, and kudos, and and and and AHHHHH  
> It's overwhelming. Thanks so much, everyone. xx 
> 
> (I haven't a clue what to write next. If you've got a suggestion or prompt, comment! If not, I am considering the 30-day OTP challenge.)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also officially on summer break. Which means random updating. Thanks for reading!


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